


Contrary to the evidence, Stiles tries not to be a stereotype

by cadoodle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Jealous Derek, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Post-Episode: s03e24 The Divine Move, References to Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:45:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadoodle/pseuds/cadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want you to know I’m never usually this forward.” Stiles says. “Usually I have to be wined and dined at least twice before I give it up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrary to the evidence, Stiles tries not to be a stereotype

“I want you to know I’m never usually this forward.” Stiles says. “Usually I have to be wined and dined at least twice before I give it up.”

Across from him, Lydia snorts in disbelief. He glares at her challengingly, before stifling a shocked moan as hands slide along his. “Sweet Jesus that’s nice.”

This time Lydia hums in approval as her own hands are massaged carefully. The Je T'aime Nail Salon requires reservations made months in advance. It just goes to show how well-kept Stiles is that Lydia makes the appointment half a year beforehand and leaves it in his phone calendar, knowing he’ll show up. It’s an ongoing joke between them that Lydia is his sugar mama, and therefore it’s not at all surprising when half of the school thinks they’re doing it. Stiles is actually pretty offended by that, since no one thinks they’re dating, just doing the horizontal tango. Then again, he’s always upheld that she is a goddess, too good for mere mortals such as himself, and it’s not like he’s wrong. Banshee isn’t that far off from goddess, after all.

The _manicurist? beautician? crazy midas-hand hand lady?_ giggles at him sweetly while pressing her thumb into his palm, the cool cream slicking up his hand. His hands practically eclipse hers but she handles them with ease, sliding one away and picking up another nasty looking metal tool and Stiles was a bigger fan of the massage part ugh-

“Stop being such a baby.” Lydia huffs. Easy for her to say, her cuticles are already perfect and well kept. Her crazy hand lady is already on her second coat of fresh _baby-butt-cheek-pink,_ or something along those lines. Stiles, meanwhile, was never informed that there was a proper way to take care of his fingernails besides giving them the ol’ trim once in a while to ensure he didn’t win any Guinness World Record Challenges unintentionally (his intentional attempts had been less than spectacular and not all that Guinness World Record worthy), so it’s been a mid-afternoon of endless cringing as his CHL literally _pushes at his skin with a blunt instrument_.

Lydia favors him with an unimpressed glance. She seems to be accusing him of not manning up, as if he’s faced worse than death at nail bed, which is totally untrue. Getting sliced in the stomach by a feral mermaid -- and damn hadn’t that been a sad, sad, end to all his Ariel fantasies (huh, he’s always had a thing for redheads) -- and accidentally electrocuted by a pissed off kitsune -- Kira made him dango afterwards in apology, so it’s all good -- come close, but surely _this is the worst thing ever_.

“ _This is the worst thing ev_ -oh, we’re back to the hand holding?” He winks at Naeun, the lovely little CHL who’s again rubbing at his hands. She studiously ignores him but her cheeks go pink, and she can’t be more than twenty-two so he wonders if he shouldn’t wait outside later, it’s almost closing time and there’s a lovely thai place around the corner-

“Stop that!” Lydia hisses, and he wonders if telepathy isn’t a banshee talent as well. “It’s not.” Lydia answers his unspoken question, and _dude, it totally is_.

“It’s all over your face, dickwad. I liked it better when you were a virgin.” She grumbles, ignoring the way Naeun and her CHL perk a little at the sound of gossip. Stiles shrugs modestly, so he’s gotten a little more confident. “You’re still my one and only, Lyds, in this life and the next.” He assures her. She tosses her hair back sassily even without the use of her hands and Stiles is both impressed and proud of his queen.

Yeah, so maybe he’s gotten a lot more confident. Stiles is a senior in high school now, and between that and the constant pressure of almost dying, he’s had little to no time to be self conscious. He’s shown up junior year in sweatpants and week old sweatshirts and not given a damn, he’s let Lydia style his hair and, at one less lucid moment, swipe her eyeliner across his eyes, so yes, definitely beyond giving a damn. Dating Malia and consequently losing every virginity he has to offer (and then some, then some _wonderful_ some) has done wonders for his self-confidence, even after they’ve broken up because of the whole _oh hey, that psycho creepy zombie dude is my Dad, small world_ thing. They remain friends, but she’s dealing with the whole ‘RePete is my chromosome donor’, and he’s ok with giving her space because he’s a bit squicked out about it himself, tbh.

“Clear, please, Naeun, nothing else.” He says as she waves the nail polish at him.

“Navy’s your color.” Lydia sing-songs, and this time it’s Stiles who rolls his eyes at her. He’s bisexual, sure, but not _that_ bisexual. Although damn, his hands feel super soft and he may rub them up and down his face and uh, other things when he gets home.

Lydia doesn’t look very put out when Stiles keeps to the thin layer of clear, but that may very well be because she’s grown bored of waiting for him to finish. She’s already paid for them both by the time he catches up to her at the desk, fingertips feeling oddly heavy. They move out, Stiles offering her his arm and she takes it, their strides lengthening. This is the main source of his newfound self-esteem, above all else; the breathtaking Lydia that guides him, believes in him, and loves him just as dearly as he loves her. She pretends she doesn’t but he knows, has known it since she busted into his head with Scott trying to rescue him from his own demon. Well technically the nogitsune belonged to Mrs. Yukimura first, but details.

“So, when exactly do you plan on wining and dining Derek?” Lydia asks as they window shop (well, she window shops and he listens, because once again, not _that_ bisexual) and he tries not to tumble straight through said window.

“What? Derek?” He laughs weakly and it sounds pathetic to both of them. Lydia’s grip on her arm tightens in a silent warning not to continue with this nonsense, and he sighs.

“Derek is not as observant as you, my dear spectacular Lydia.” He says. She scoffs in response.

“As if that matters. Just ask him out, you doof.” She twirls a finger through her hair and eyes up a blonde with a skateboard chatting with his friends at the food court. Stiles waits until the guy looks up, notices he’s being checked out by the strawberry-blonde, before offering him a wink of his own. The guy flushes red and Stiles only feels a slight twinge of worry when both Lydia and himself give the guy matching smirks.

“Sometimes I think I’ve created a monster.” Lydia says from the corner of her primly upturned mouth. Her freshly manicured nails dig into his arm as she drags him forward. Stiles puts his hand over hers and tucks it more securely into the crook of his arm, feeling calm because of course Lydia knows she was a part of this. Is a part of him, forever and always. She’s also a boss-ass bitch and of course she’s going to take credit for him, but that just means she’s proud, so hell yeah, he’ll be her frankenstein’s monster.

“I’m your faithful servant, m’lady.” Says he, because he is shameless. Lydia reaches a hand up to rub along his neck, slipping under his collar, and he knows she’s scent-marking him, knows she’s up to something but isn’t sure exactly what so he allows it.

By the time they reach Derek’s apartment it’s six in the afternoon. Stiles let’s himself in with the spare and ignores Lydia’s pointed glance, because he learned to pick locks a year ago after the whole _trapped-in-a-jail-cell-while-poltergeist-glues-Scott-to-the-ceiling_ thing, and Derek got tired real fast of Stiles scratching up the keyhole and just gave him the spare instead. And no, Stiles, did not use it that often, just when he was checking on Derek to see if he had died because the dude got hurt pretty often for a magical healing werewolf so Stiles had designated not-dead days in which he went over to make sure Derek was, in fact, not dead.

There is no intimacy in the action of Derek handing him a slice of pizza as he walks in, though there is a level of comfort that Stiles enjoys. Derek trusts him, trusts him enough to let him wander in without tensing his shoulders, because he does that a lot, did it a lot especially after the Nogitsune because he wasn’t always sure Stiles was Stiles. Though that relaxation might have something to do with the anti-possession rune tattooed on Stiles’ hip more than anything.

The Sheriff had walked around calling it his tramp stamp for weeks.

Stiles pats Scott on the shoulder as he walks into the living room. He’s actually playing little spoon to Kira’s big spoon for once, looking comfortable in the cradle of her legs, not fussing about crushing her like he usually does. She’s running a hand through his hair. They fussed around each other for a long time, especially after Allison’s death. Scott felt guilty about starting anything, and Kira felt guilty about wanting anything to start.

Stiles had just been guilty.

Lydia beckons him forward and he remembers that sometimes he wonders if he’s not Allison’s replacement. He remembers the rumors that floated around school after she died, how she had been involved in a cult, how all of them were involved in a cult. Kids, teenagers died after being with them. Erica, Boyd, Aiden--Jackson Whittemore moved just to get away from them. _Don’t hang out with Lydia Martin or Scott McCall_ they whispered. _You’ll end up dead._

The group grew tighter after that. Stronger. Something in Scott had been hurt, mostly his heart, but he still retained that ray of sunshine, especially with Kira. True Alpha was probably code for Biggest Puppy in Existence, especially with that no-kill rule. That was some freaking unicorn vs. virgin type shit right there.

Stiles was the one that changed a lot -- confidence came easy when you no longer gave a damn. If people thought you were a murderer -- and if maybe you were exactly that -- who cared what you wore? Who cared who you flirted with? His pack was important to him -- he would protect them, protect them like he couldn’t protect Allison, or Erica, or Boyd.

None of them had died in the past two years.

He sits beside Lydia and leans against her, taking in her muted strawberry scent. She doesn’t put on as much anymore, aware of the werewolves’ sensitivity to smell. She hadn’t changed at all when Allison died, because that was who she was. Lydia had a moment of stunned shock, a moment of tears, and then Lydia _kept fucking going_. They had all followed her lead.

They were happy.

...And he had the hots for Derek.

Derek, who now enters the room with his own slice of pizza and a bowl of popcorn. Isaac would normally be hanging off his back trying to grab some before it reached the table and became a free-for-all, but he was off working on Scott’s diplomatic relations. He liked going, and Derek paid for his trips, so he became the McCall pack ambassador. He established the pack’s presence and territory in Beacon Hills, and opened communications with other packs. Stiles had offered to make him a powerpoint, complete with a slide dedicated to Derek’s abs and another for their bootylicious banshee, but he had gotten shut down (He made it anyway and would open it now and then for shits and giggles. Don’t ask him how he got the pictures of Derek).

Derek sits beside them, sinking in with a sigh. Stiles reaches for the popcorn and Derek’s nose twitches before he grabs his hand by the wrist.

“Ouch, what?”

“Is that nail polish?” Derek asks, his nose twitching again. Stiles isn’t sure whether to laugh or to cringe as Derek examines his tidy nails.

“Uh, yes.” He says, wiggling his fingers to get the blood flow going again. Damn Derek’s grip is strong.

“Why?”

“We went for manicures.” Lydia says with a shrug. “Now shut up I’m trying to watch the show.” Derek’s brow furrows, he opens his mouth but shuts it and turns to watch the television instead.

Stiles actually spends a lot of time wondering if he’s Allison’s replacement. He’s never known for sure -- they did just get manicures, after all -- but he likes to think this is the natural progression of a friendship forged by death and werewolves. He’s definitely different from Allison -- he’s not a archer _archeress?_ Katniss type BAMF, for one. He’s gotten pretty nifty with herbs, and _yes_ , he means herbs, not drugs, though he got pretty nifty with rolling a joint in junior year before Lydia found out and slapped him silly. He still makes one for the wolves every now and then, because they found out nothing calms them down quicker, and a calm wolf bleeding from hunter’s bullets is a lot better than a rabid wolf bleeding from hunter’s bullets.

But getting back to Allison -- he’s different from her. Very different. He’s more the asks questions first, action maybe never type guy. He was the brain, well okay, Lydia was the brain and he was the back-up brain, and Allison was the muscle more often than not.

Derek’s hand is sliding along his neck, and man does that wake him up from his reminiscing. He’s done it before, but it always makes Stiles shiver a little. Derek’s fingertips glance over his skin, but Derek himself is looking resolutely at the television. They briefly dance under his collar and-

“ _What the fuck, Lydia_.” He hisses, and Derek and Scott jolt because damn, werewolf hearing. Seeing that Stiles is solely addressing Lydia they turn back to the television, but he knows they’re all perked up, ready for drama. Derek’s hand flinches back from his neck before returning and it’s stupid that he feels relieved about it.

“What?” She says, amused. He sneers at her, then grabs Derek’s hand lightning quick. The wolf stiffens, but Stiles just jabs at the banshee with his hand.

“What did you do to my neck woman?” He demands, bristling, because he loves her but you do not mess around with his person unless given explicit permission. He gave her permission to scent-mark him, not wipe whatever it is that has Derek all up in his biz and tracing where she touched, and she knows it, based on the poutier her lips have now gotten as she shifts.

Derek has become the consistency of marble in his hand and at his side. He can practically hear his bones creaking as he swings Derek’s hand and arm around wildly as he hisses at Lydia about boundaries and spells and the danger of smearing substances on his person because damnit above all his skin is sensitive, he breaks out like that Lydia, like that.

“I don’t think there are any allergens in my lipgloss, Stiles.” Lydia says dryly, and beside him Derek updates to diamond rigid. Stiles wrinkles his nose, because why the fuck would she-

“ _Dude._ ” Scott says, looking highly betrayed. “You said it wasn’t like that anymore.” Kira sits up curiously, having minded her own business like the sweetheart that she is and not asked Scott for the deets, the 911, the-

“Whoa, what? We’re not like that.” Stiles denies as his brain catches up, because yeah Lydia decided to wipe her gloss off on his neck but that doesn’t mean they’re necking it just-

 _Totally makes it look like they’re necking_.

“You were what? Wiping it off?” Derek shifts uncomfortably and Stiles digs his thumb into Derek’s palm the same way Naeun did to him. It works, and Derek mutters “you reeked of cherry,” and there’s barely a beat before Scott says “I didn’t smell anything” and Lydia mutters “it’s scentless, dumbass” and Derek is back to granite.

Stiles hums, his heart stuttering a hopeful beat in his chest, so he hums not to cover up the sound but to at least stifle the smile that’s threatening to erupt on his face.

“You paying special attention to my neck area Derek?” He asks. Someone snorts, and Lydia mutters “more like all your areas” except it isn’t a mutter when _everyone can hear you_ , and Derek looks ready to flee, ready to gnaw his own arm off as Stiles clutches it and just fucking flee.

“No, no, no, this isn’t the wilderness.” He snaps, “You don’t get to go all _no comprendo íngles yo soló soy wolf_ on me” and fuck, four years of solid spanish and he still doesn’t know the spanish for wolf, you think he would’ve gotten on that.

“What?” Is all Derek says, so Stiles grabs his arm and hauls him off to the kitchen -- Derek helps by standing up when Stiles tugs uselessly and threatens to stretch one of his nicer shirts out -- even though it’s still within wolfy-ear range, sorry Scott.

“Speak. Use your words.” Stiles commands, and Derek shifts awkwardly.

“It’s not a pack thing.” He says, and Stiles is confused.

“What?”

“When Lydia touches you. It’s not a pack thing. Not a...scent thing.” Derek forces out. “It’s a claiming thing.”

“You think Lydia is _claiming_ me?” Stiles asks incredulously, and he’s not sure who’s more surprised, himself or Derek when the wolf growls.

“She is. She’s putting a mark on you.” Derek gestures to Stiles’ neck and yeah, the lip gloss, that sort of makes sense, except it _absolutely fucking doesn’t make any sense at all_.

“She’s not claiming me, dude, she’s just messing with you.” Stiles says with sudden clarity. “She went to get a manicure, you know what that means?” And isn’t it sad that Stiles does, even if Derek doesn’t, so Stiles goes ahead and tells him. “It means Jackson is coming into town next week and Lydia is powering up.”

“What?” Derek says again, and man Stiles has got it bad if he thinks even that is cute.

“Lydia is going to the nearest bar, where she will proceed to take names and make powerful men into her weeping bitches, which she will then proceed to flaunt around Jackson because even if he lives in London now he still gets hella jealous whenever he sees how extremely well adjusted and well provided for Lydia is.”

“You can tell all of this from her nails?” Derek says, shifting again and-

“Are you _jealous_?” Stiles can’t get rid of the glee in his voice, even as Derek looks ready to flee again. “Really? I just told you Lydia is going to be fucking a guy that definitely isn’t me and you’re still jealous?” He grins as he realizes what this all means-

“And you were jealous about Lydia possibly claiming me. You were jealous that I might belong to Lydia. Dude.” he breathes, because Derek isn’t growling but has instead become very, very still, the still he goes when Stiles is correct about something, correct about not dumping oil in the lake to draw out the mermaid, correct about not throwing Kira off a roof to see if she can withstand pain, or, in this case, correct about Derek’s _humongous pile of feelings_.

Stiles gives himself three seconds of deep, calm breathing, a chance to notice if he’s wrong but when Derek continues to stare at him blankly and slightly-panicky, he turns around and turns the blender on before throwing himself at Derek lips first.

Derek, for his whole Statue of David act, is surprisingly responsive and incredibly attentive, arms winding around Stiles, and yes, rubbing across his neck before grabbing the back of Stiles’ shirt and _pulling it off him_ and returning to Stiles’ lips before he can even so much as blink. Not to say Stiles isn’t doing his part, running his hands through Derek’s hair and down his hips, and what the hell, cupping his ass too because if it’s claiming Derek wants, then it is claiming Derek will get.

“No sex in the kitchen!” Scott shrieks from the living room as they hit the counter with incredible force. Derek’s response is to reach out a finger and push the button on the blender from _blend_ to _grind_ , and as the noise grows Stiles can’t help but find it incredibly appropriate, given the circumstances.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr: confessedlyfannish.tumblr.com


End file.
